Alright On My Own
by DaniiButNotBeck
Summary: The new ADA for Manhattan SVU is a mystery that Detective Olivia Benson would like to solve. AU. (No major character death, but you'll probably cry.)
1. Chapter 1

Title: Alright On My Own

Pairing: Alex Cabot/Olivia Benson

Rating: K+/T

Author's Note: As you all know, these characters aren't mine. They belong to Dick Wolf and NBC.

Author's Note 2: Here it is: the story I've been talking about for a month now. I hope you enjoy it. Also, I do not recommend listening to Taylor Swift's "Ronan" while reading this story.

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* * *

Chapter: 1

A dozen bouquets of white lilies cover the ground in front of the apartment door. Alex Cabot carelessly pushes them aside with her foot and reaches into her purse to find her key. She fumbles with the key momentarily as tears cloud her vision, but finally succeeds in unlocking the door and entering her apartment.

Leaning back against the door, she slips off her heels and drops her purse on the ground. The tears come again, but she does not try to stop them. Instead, she walks clumsily through the kitchen and picks a half-full bottle up off the counter. She pours some of the clear liquid into a shot glass and downs it quickly.

Due to an incident caused by the drink at a Christmas party in 1994, Alex Cabot no longer drinks cheap tequila. Tonight, however, is the exception to the rule. Tonight, the burn of the alcohol in her throat offers a welcome reprieve from the continuous ache that has become her normal state of being. Tonight, as she down shot after shot, she is drinking to forget, though she knows she never will.

She hears the bottle shatter against the living room wall of her small, South Dakota apartment as she slides down the wall and pulls her knees to her chest, not caring that her dress has ridden up to the tops of her thighs. She wraps her arms around her legs and holds tightly to herself, her nails digging into the skin of her legs to the extent that she nearly draws blood. She rests her head against her knees and cries gut-wrenching, heartbreaking sobs.

Hours later, the loud beep of the answering machine startles her awake and Alex sits up quickly, smacking her head on the wall behind her and effectively irritating the headache growing in her eyes.

A man's voice, deep and even, fills the room: "I know you're there, Alex. Please pick up." He pauses for a few seconds, giving Alex a chance to answer the phone. When she doesn't, he continues with tears in his voice: "I just…I need to talk to you, Alex. Please."

At the sheer desperation in his voice, Alex uses the rest of her remaining strength to get to her feet and answer the phone. "I can't deal with this right now, Trevor."

"I know, Alex. I'm sorry. I just…I should've called last week."

Alex closes her eyes, fighting back the stinging, bitter tears. "Why didn't you?"

"I didn't think I had the right."

Alex scoffs, happily accepting the distraction from her thoughts that would come with yelling at Trevor. "Didn't think you had the…Trevor Langan, the man who acts like the world owes him everything, didn't think he _had the right_?"

"I'm sorry," Trevor offers lamely.

Pain and heartbreak grip at Alex and pull her into their strong embrace. "Sorry won't bring him back," she whispers. Without another word, she hangs up the phone and fall onto the couch.

It feels like her heart is shattering in her chest. She claws at her chest, trying desperately to get inside to dull the pain. She claws until she draws blood, the collapses and sobs against the couch cushions.

After a while, the sobs begin to subside and Alex moves from her spot on the couch to the other side of the living room and begins to clean up the shattered bottle on the floor. A jagged piece of glass cuts the palm of her hand, but Alex doesn't even register it until droplets of blood hit her foot.

Sighing, she dumps the glass into the trashcan and walks down the hallway to the bathroom, leaving a trail of blood that could rival the pebble trail in _Hansel and Gretel_.

Bracing herself against the bathroom sink, Alex watches unflinchingly as her blood mixes with the water in the basin and swirls down the drain. Hot water drips from the faucet over the cut on the palm of her hand and she knows it should sting, but she can't distinguish any feeling other than the complete and total grief that has consumed her.

Looking up, she truly sees herself in the mirror for the first time in five days. Her blond hair hangs loose, its color dull and its shine faded. The past twenty months have left her with dark rings under her eyes and an unhealthy pallor to her skin that not even makeup can hide. Even her eyes have faded from their original vibrant blue to a tired, resigned grey.

Alex shakes her head slowly, her haggard appearance no longer having an effect on her. She strips out of her black dress, letting it pool on the ground by her feet, and turns the shower on as hot as she can take it. She steps in and lets the water beat down on her back and shoulders like the end of a whip cracking against her skin.

It is punishment. It is self-flagellation. It is a painful reminder of one of the many things she couldn't protect him from. It is everything. It is nothing.

It is just a shower.

Her movements are automatic; the bottle of yellow shampoo is in her hands before she even realizes it. The smell is so ingrained in her memory that, for a moment, she can pretend he is still there.

The soap bottle slips from her hand and clatters to the ground with a loud crash; the noise startles Alex out of her thoughts and she lets her body slide to the floor of the shower. Curled up against the cool tile wall, she sobs against her knees until the water gets cold.

After her shower, Alex searches through the laundry basket of clean clothes by the bathroom door and dresses in pajama pants and her baggy, Harvard sweatshirt. She leaves her hair down to air dry and walks out of the bathroom and down the hallway.

She stops halfway down the hallway and stares at the bedroom she had painted with chalkboard paint so many months ago. On the door is a name painted in blue paint. Alex smiles sadly as she traces the letters, her heart shattering all over again as she realizes that the room's owner won't be sleeping in the bed if she opens the door.

She pushes the door open almost reluctantly and uses the bureau to keep herself from falling as she is bombarded by memories.

…

* * *

…

_Two years, five days earlier_

The creaking of the floorboard as it gets stepped on is a dead giveaway that her three-year-old is awake and on his way to her bedroom. She smiles to herself and pretends to be asleep as her bedroom door slowly creaks open.

"Mama," Hunter says in that loud whisper only toddlers can perfect. "Mama, wake up." He walks over to her bed and climbs on to it. Sitting beside her, he places both hands on her exposed arm and shakes her lightly. "C'mon, Mama," he says worriedly.

Alex smiles widely and opens her eyes. "Morning, baby," she says. "Happy birthday." She sits up quickly as Hunter prepares to launch himself at her.

"Mama," Hunter exclaims, launching himself into Alex's lap and wrapping his arms around her neck. He presses a slobbery kiss to her cheek and flops off her lap onto his back on the bed.

Alex brushes his shaggy, brown hair off his forehead and looks down into his blue eyes, her wide smile never leaving her lips. "Hungry?"

Hunter nods excitedly and jumps off the edge of the bed. "Eggs?" he asks, bolting out of the room.

Alex climbs out of bed and follows her son as he runs into the living room. "Of course," she says. "What kind?"

"Scrambled with cheese like always, Mama," Hunter says, climbing on to the couch and pulling his blue blanket and plush dinosaur into his lap. He turns on the tv and starts to sing along to some show on Nickelodeon.

"Scrambled with cheese," Alex repeats, "like always."

…

* * *

…

_Present Day_

Alex squeezes her eyes shut against the onslaught of new tears and quickly backs out of the room, slamming the door shut behind her.

Walking quickly back to the living room, Alex falls onto the couch as another memory consumes her.

…

* * *

…

_One year, seven months, sixteen days earlier_

The exam room in the Pediatric Neurology ward of Sanford Children's Hospital is painted bright white with various, colorful, cartoon characters decorating the walls.

Hunter sits sideways on Alex's lap, his right hand tangled in the short hairs at Alex's neck and his left hand playing with the fabric of his mother's shirt.

There is a knock on the door and the pediatric neurologist – Dr. Michael Fisher – enters the room. Dr. Fisher is an athletically-built man with dark hair and light eyes and a demeanor that can make the most nervous parent feel calm.

"Michael Fisher," the doctor says, holding out his hand.

"Alex Cabot," Alex responds, shaking the doctor's hand. "This is my son Hunter."

"Hi, Hunter," Dr. Fisher says, offering a peaceful smile. "I'm Dr. Fisher. How are you today?"

Instead of responding, Hunter buries his face in the crook of Alex's neck and holds tightly to her.

Alex winces slightly as Hunter's hands tangle in and pull her hair. "He's shy," Alex offers by way of explanation, gently rubbing circles on Hunter's back.

Dr. Fisher smiles again and sits in the chair across from Alex and Hunter. He flips open Hunter's patient record and skims the contents. "What brings you in with Hunter today, Ms. Cabot?"

"After discussing his symptoms with his primary care physician, we were referred to you for additional insight."

Dr. Fisher nods. "Can you describe his symptoms?"

"Double vision, difficulty chewing and swallowing food, clumsiness, weakness in his left arm, persistent headaches, vomiting, fatigue."

"How long has he been experiencing these symptoms?" Dr. Fisher asks, making some notes in Hunter's file.

Alex thinks back over the past couple months. "The extreme fatigue has been present for almost six weeks, the clumsiness and weakness for three and two weeks respectively, the headache for a week, and the vomiting, double vision, and difficulty chew and swallowing have started within the past three days."

Dr. Fisher jots a few more notes into the file. "That's a long time," he says non-judgmentally.

Despite the doctor's calm, even tone, Alex is immediately on the defensive. "I tried to get him in earlier, but this was the first open appointment."

"I understand," he says. And he does – his schedule has been full every day for the past six months, leaving him with little time for his patients and even less time with his family. Dr. Fisher looks up from Hunter's file and runs his hand through his hair. "I'd like to run some tests."

"What kind of tests?"

"An MRI, some blood-work."

Alex nods. "When?"

"Today, if that's possible."

"It is."

"Okay." Dr. Fisher closes Hunter's file and stands up. "I'll put the order in right now and you can take him down to the lab on the first floor. After that, a nurse will be by to take you to radiology."

"Okay," Alex says, standing up, Hunter still clutching to her.

Dr. Fisher smiles. "It was nice meeting you, Hunter. I'll call you with the results in a few days, Ms. Cabot. Take care."

Down in the lab, the phlebotomist takes Hunter right away. To Alex's surprise, Hunter doesn't cry nor does he whimper as his blood is drawn.

They have a half-hour wait for the MRI. As they wait, Hunter regales Alex with extraordinary tales of pirates and buried treasure, or princes and princesses in faraway lands, of genies and magic and talking houseware. Alex listens with rapt attention, completely enthralled by her three-year-old's stories.

When the tech calls Hunter's name, Alex is permitted to sit in the scan room while the test takes place. The MRI takes an hour; during this time, the loud knocking sound causes Alex's head to throb incessantly. Hunter, however, is a trooper.

Fifteen minutes after the MRI ends, Alex and Hunter are in the parking garage, walking toward the car. As Alex reaches for the door handle, her cellphone rings.

"Cabot," she says, balancing the phone between her shoulder and her ear and attempting to buckle Hunter into his car seat.

"Miss Cabot," a woman's voice says, "this is Sydney from the Pediatric Neurology Department of Sanford Children's Hospital. Have you left the hospital yet?"

Alex stops fidgeting with the buckle on Hunter's car seat. "We're in the parking garage," she says, fear creeping up her spine. "Why?"

"Would you mind coming back in?"

"Right now?"

"Yes. Dr. Fisher would like to see you in his office right away."

"Okay," Alex says, "we'll be right in." The call disconnects and Alex puts her phone back into her pocket. "We gotta go back inside, baby," she says, stepping aside so Hunter can climb out of the car. She shuts the door and locks it.

"So sleepy, Mama," Hunter mumbles, taking hold of Alex's hand. He walks for a short time, but his hold on her hand is too weak and he stumbles too often for Alex to let him walk for too long.

They are taken to Dr. Fisher's office as soon as they arrive back at the Pediatric Neurology Ward.

The office is elegantly decorated in a calm grey-blue with accents the color of antique book pages. Black-framed picture frames on his walls hold his diplomas and certificates. His desk and both guest chairs are made of polished cherry wood. The office reminds Alex of her father's.

Dr. Fisher knocks lightly on the door and enters the office, looking distressed with his hair askew and lack of comforting smile. He sets a large, yellow, paper sheaf on his desk and sits in his chair.

Alex looks over at Hunter – who is curled up in the second guest chair, fast asleep – and smiles, knowing deep in her heart that the news Dr. Fisher is about to deliver is going to change their lives forever. "How bad is it?" she asks, looking back at the doctor.

Without saying a word, Dr. Fisher slides the scans out of the paper sheaf and sticks them on the light box on the wall. He flicks a switch and illuminates the scans.

Alex shakes her head. "Wh-what am I looking at?"

"See this white spot right here?" Dr. Fisher points to a white blob near the bottom of the second scan. Alex nods. "It's called a brainstem glioma. It's a tumor."

Alex stares at the doctor for a moment, hearing nothing but the rushing of blood in her ears. "Cancer?" she asks, her voice breaking. She clears her throat. "Hunter has…he has cancer?"

Dr. Fisher shakes his head. "Not necessarily," he says. "Normally, we'd do a biopsy to determine if the cells were cancerous, but the location of this type of tumor makes that difficult. It's wrapped within the brain stem." He traces the scan again for emphasis.

"What could happen if you tried to biopsy it?"

Dr. Fisher looks back at the scans and away from Alex's eyes and says, "He could end up severely impaired, paralyzed, or…"

"Or what?"

Dr. Fisher looks away from the scans, but continues to refuse to meet Alex's eyes. "The biopsy could kill him."

…

* * *

…

_Present Day_

As the memory fades to black, Alex rubs her eyes furiously. She looks around the living room and sees Hunter's blue blanket and plush dinosaur sitting together at the opposite end of the couch. She pulls them to her and holds them against her face, breathing in the smell of the baby shampoo she had used to wash him up on The Worst Day.

"I miss you so much, Hunter," she says against the blanket, "every single day."

An hour later, with her mind made up, Alex places a photo album, her expanding folder of important documents, and Hunter's blue blanket and plush dinosaur into a box. She leaves the apartment and does not look back.

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AN: What do you guys think? Should I continue?


	2. Chapter 2

Title: Alright On My Own Chapter 2

Author's Note: For disclaimer, see chapter one.

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* * *

Chapter: 2

_One month later_

"Cabot," Alex barks into her cellphone, cradling it between her ear and her shoulder. She pushes aside some files on her desk, searching for the case file she needs for court the following day. Finding it, she curses her predecessor for leaving such a mess for her to deal with.

"Why didn't you tell me you were back in New York?" Trevor asks, bypassing a more polite greeting.

Alex sighs and pinches the bridge of her nose. "I didn't tell anyone."

"Why not?"

"It's been too long, Trevor; too much has changed."

"So avoiding everyone is the best way to handle it?"

"Yes."

"You know that's not true, Alex."

"My son died," Alex says, fighting back tears. She will not cry, not here. "He died and now I have nothing but extensive medical bills and an empty apartment."

"Our son," Trevor says. "I lost him too, Alex."

"It's not the same," Alex yells, the tears finally spilling down her face. She takes a deep breath and lowers her voice. "It's not the same."

"How, Alex? How is it not the same?"

"You weren't ready for a child, Trevor; you said as much yourself."

"But I was there when he was born. I stepped up."

"After your father intervened."

"You moved to South Dakota."

"You could've too."

"I was needed here."

"Exactly," Alex says. "You weren't there, Trevor. You didn't see what it was like for us. The only saving grace was that I didn't have any student loans."

"I'm sorry."

"It doesn't matter now," Alex says. "What's done is done." A knock on her door cuts off her next sentence. "I have to go, Trevor," she says instead. She hangs up without waiting for a response. She wipes underneath her eyes, trying to hide any evidence that she'd been crying. "Come in," she calls, sounding more confident than she feels.

The door opens agonizingly slowly to reveal a woman with shaggy, brown hair. "Are you the new ADA for Manhattan SVU?" she asks.

"Yes," Alex says, sticking out her hand for the woman to shake. "Alex Cabot."

"Detective Benson," the woman says, shaking Alex's hand. "But you can call me Olivia."

"Okay, Olivia" – Alex gestures to the seat in front of her desk, which Olivia sinks in to happily – "what can I do for you?"

_I can think of a few things_, Olivia thinks, a blush creeping up her neck. "Captain Cragen said I could pick up a warrant from you."

Alex opens a drawer on her desk and pulls out the piece of paper, thankful she had the foresight to set it aside when she found it topping the mess her predecessor left. "Follow it to the T, Detective," she says. "I don't want this case thrown out because of a bad search." Alex looks up and fails to suppress a small smile.

Olivia has fallen asleep in the chair in front of Alex's desk.

…

* * *

…

December 31, 1998 is a Thursday. It is also Hunter's third day of chemotherapy and fourth day spent in the Pediatric Oncology Ward of Sanford Children's Hospital.

Alex reaches over and brushes Hunter's hair out of his eyes, knowing it won't be long before the chemo takes that small pleasure away from her.

Hunter looks up from the picture he's coloring and grins toothily at his mother. "You're sposta cut it, Mama."

"I know, baby," Alex says, "but it looks nice long."

"Like Daddy's?"

"Yes" – Alex smiles – "like Daddy's."

Hunter beams at Alex, giving her a smile that truly lights up his eyes for the first time in almost a week. "Can we call Daddy?"

"Not right now, baby. Daddy's at work."

Hunter crosses his arms over his chest as best he can without jostling the IV in his left arm, lowers his head, and sticks out his bottom lip. "Please, Mama."

Alex sighs, knowing she is unable to resist her son's put. "After your nap."

"Not sleepy," Hunter says, trying to hide a yawn.

"You're very sleepy." Alex moves the over-the-bed table to the end of the bed and lowers the top of the bed so Hunter is lying down. She pulls his blanket up and carefully tucks him in, aware of how easily he is starting to bruise. After lightly kissing his forehead, she places his plush dinosaur and little, blue blanket underneath his right arm. "I love you, Hunter," she whispers, "so much."

In the thirty seconds it takes her to complete this ritual, Hunter has fallen asleep.

…

* * *

…

"Detective Benson," Alex says. Clearing her throat, she repeats herself a bit louder. When that doesn't work, she says, "Olivia," a bit louder.

Olivia's eyes snap open and she is on her feet with her gun in her hand in less than two seconds. It takes a few more seconds for her to focus on her surroundings and even longer to holster her gun. She runs her hand through her hair and sighs. Sinking back in to the chair, she says, "Sorry, Counselor. Didn't mean to scare you."

Alex takes a deep breath and focuses on slowing her heartbeat. Once she is sure she can speak without a tremor in her voice, she says, "My apologies, Detective Benson. I should have known better than to startle you awake."

"It was entirely my fault," Olivia says. "How long was I out for?"

Alex glances at her watch. "No more than five minutes."

Olivia nods once and stands up. "Thanks for letter me nap in your office, Counselor. I'm sure my partner will appreciate it."

Alex forces a small smile to mask the pain she is currently feeling. "Anytime, Detective." She hands the warrant to Olivia. "I hope you find what you're looking for."

Olivia nods. "Thanks," she says. "Have a nice day, Counselor."

"You too, Detective."

…

* * *

…

"Benson," Elliot says, tossing a balled-up piece of paper at his partner, "where the hell were you? I almost fell asleep waiting for you."

"Got the warrant," Olivia says, dropping the paper on Elliot's desk. "Carmichael had it ready; she just didn't drop it off."

"Woulda been nice if she had," Elliot grumbles, pulling on his jacket and leaving the squadroom, Olivia close behind him.

They're silent until they are in the car.

"What's she like?" Elliot asks, not looking away from the road.

Confused, Olivia looks at her partner. "Who?"

"The new ADA."

"Oh." Olivia shrugs. "No nonsense, smart. She knows what she's doing."

"Standoffish?"

Olivia shakes her head. "Hurt, I think."

"That your female intuition talking, Benson?" Elliot grins.

Olivia rolls her eyes. "Shut up, Stabler." Looking back out at the passing scenery, Olivia allows herself to wonder about the mysterious, new ADA.

Back at the District Attorney's office, Alex breaks down and allows herself to cry, craving, for the first time in nearly five years, the companionship of another adult.

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AN: I know some of you will be wondering why Alex is back to work after only a month. It will be addressed in the next chapter.


	3. Chapter 3

Title: Alright On My Own Chapter 3

Author's Note: For disclaimer, see chapter one.

Author's Note 2: Part of this chapter was strongly influenced by "The Fault In Our Stars" by John Green. I do not own it.

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* * *

Chapter: 3

It takes two weeks and an injury to bring Olivia back to Alex's office.

"Should've figured you'd still be here," Olivia says, leaning against the doorframe, her left arm in a sling. "Burnin' the midnight oil?"

"Detective Benson." Alex looks up from her paperwork, pleasantly surprised. "What happened to your arm?"

Olivia moves to the guest chair in Alex's office. "Just a scratch."

Alex raises her eyebrow. "A scratch? Detective Stabler said it was closer to six stitches."

Olivia smirks. "Why'd you ask if you already knew?"

"I knew you'd downplay the injury."

"You're right." Olivia nods. "So, Counselor," she starts, unsure of what's causing the sudden rush of bravery – the painkillers they gave her at the hospital or the fact that she could have died today – but happy it is, "what are your plans for this evening?"

Alex freezes, knowing she can't tell Olivia the truth, but not wanting to lie outright. She settles for: "I have an appointment at 7:30."

"Would you like to get a late dinner with me?"

Alex tilts her head and looks at Olivia with regret in her eyes. "Olivia, I–"

Olivia puts her hand up to forestall Alex's explanation. "I'm sorry," she says. "That was unprofessional and…I'm sorry, Alex." She stands up. "I should go; Cragen told me to go straight home after the hospital."

Alex nods. "Olivia" – she waits until Olivia turns around – "I'm sorry too. It's just" – she sighs – "it's just too soon."

Olivia nods once and offers Alex a small smile. "I understand. Have a nice night, Alex."

…

* * *

…

Two hours later, Alex finds herself sitting in a circle in the stone-walled basement of an Episcopal church shaped like a cross.

By 7:45, all of the other attendees are seated in the circle. A short woman with black hair stands in the middle of the circle. She recites a prayer and then begins the group introductions by introducing herself. Her name is Julie and her six-year-old daughter passed away from leukemia four years ago.

As introductions are made, Alex finds: (1) most of the other attendees are now divorced or currently going through a divorce; and (2) most of their losses occurred a year or more ago.

When it is her turn, Alex wipes her sweaty palms on her dress pants and addresses the ground. "My name is Alex," she says, "and my son was diagnosed with a brainstem glioma on December 26, 1998. He passed away eight weeks ago on the night of his fifth birthday."

Alex waits for the standard greeting to come, but it never does. She looks up from the floor to find the group staring at her, the expression on their faces a mixture of pity and wonder. Her cheeks flash red and burn intensely under the group's gaze.

"Welcome, Alex," Julie says, giving Alex a small smile. The group, startled from their silence, echoes the greeting. Alex replies with a small nod.

Once the introductions are finished, Julie asks if anyone would like to share. From there, stories of fighting and battling and winning and shrinking and scanning are recounted. The stories of relapse and recurrence and side effects and experimental treatments and deaths and funerals are left hiding just below the surface. But it is the stories of birthdays and holidays and first days of school that Alex finds herself immersed in.

It is after one such story that Alex finds herself volunteering. "Hunter never had a real first day of school," she says as preamble. "By the time he was old enough to start preschool, he was already too sick. But his father never let that stop him, and on September 4, 1999, Hunter started the only year of schooling he would receive." Alex smiles sadly as she recounts to the group the story of how Trevor hired a teacher to teach the four year olds on the Children's Ward.

"The class took place in the playroom," Alex says. "Brooke, the teacher, had a semi-circle shaped table set up and she would sit on the flat side while the kids sat on the curved side. They learned how to read and write, colors, shapes, objects, numbers and counting, cutting, and drawing. They were encouraged to socialize and make friends. They learned how to share."

Alex wipes at her eyes and chuckles lightly. "They wouldn't let us stay in the room while they were in class. That was Hunter's idea. He wanted us to be surprised." Alex stops there, unable to go on because even the food memories make her heart hurt.

"Thank you, Alex, for sharing," Julie nearly whispers. She glances down at her watch and notices that it is already after nine. She clears her throat and addresses the group. "That's all we have time for tonight," she says. "Please remember to collect your jackets and other belongings from the back of the room. We'll meet again next week, same time."

If the group is confused by the abrupt ending or lack of usual closing, they do not show it. The majority lingers in the back of the room, making weekend plans for dinner or a meet-up at Central Park with their children. Everyone else leaves quickly, wanting to escape the place where they relive the worst day of their lives.

Alex doesn't move; she stays seated in the uncomfortable, plastic chair, just staring blankly at the tan-tiled floor. It is not until she feels a hand on her shoulder that she looks up and looks around the room, noticing it is almost completely empty. "I'm sorry," she says, standing up. "I should go."

"They're amazed by you, Alex," Julie says. "Your loss is so recent, yet you're able to talk about Hunter as keep yourself together. They've never seen anyone as strong as you."

Alex shakes her head. "I spend my days surrounded by people experiencing the worst day of their life. You pick up a few things from them."

Julie nods once. "Come back next week, Alex."

"I will," Alex says.

…

* * *

…

When she gets home, Alex does not partake in her usual ritual of drinking herself to sleep. Instead, she slips of her heels and changes into jeans and a t-shirt. She pulls her cellphone out of her purse and dials a number she hadn't been expecting to dial.

The call is answered on the third ring. "Benson," Olivia says.

"Olivia, hi," Alex says sheepishly.

"Alex?" Olivia's smirk is almost audible. "What can I do for you?"

"Are you still available for dinner?"

"You couldn't stay away, could you?" Olivia chuckles. "There's a diner near the precinct that's really good. Want to meet at the precinct and go from there?"

"Sounds good."

"Great, see you soon." Olivia pauses. "Hey, Alex?"

"Yes?"

"I'm really glad you called." Olivia hangs up the phone as soon as the sentence is out of her mouth.

Alex smiles. "I am too," she says into the silence.

.

* * *

AN: HKS, I really hope this answers your question. If not, then yes, this is certainly going to be an AO story.


	4. Chapter 4

Title: Alright On My Own Chapter 4

Author's Note: For disclaimer, see chapter one.

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* * *

Chapter 4

Cold, late-November winds whip through the streets of New York, nipping at noses and fingertips and biting through jackets.

Alex pulls her jacket tighter around her thin frame and bows her head against the wind as she walks down the sidewalk toward One Hogan Place. The feeling of a body falling into step next to her makes her look up.

"Good morning, Counselor," Olivia says, handing Alex the extra cup of coffee in her hands. The slight brush of their hands is enough to send sparks up Olivia's arm.

"Good morning, Detective," Alex responds. The way she is smiling tells Olivia that she feels the sparks too. She takes a sip of the coffee; it is, of course, perfect. "To what do I owe this pleasure?"

Olivia shrugs. "It's Friday."

Alex nods, a small smirk playing at her lips. "I'm well aware."

Olivia laughs and playfully bumps her shoulder into Alex's. "Come out with us tonight." Just as Alex is about to turn down her request yet again, Olivia says, "It'll be fun."

"I don't think it's a good idea, Liv."

"Why not?"

Alex takes another sip of her coffee, stalling for time. She can't tell Olivia the truth – not here and certainly not like this – but she has a certain aversion to lying to the detective. "Okay," she says, "I'll go."

Olivia's face lights up like a child's on Christmas morning. They reach the steps of One Hogan Place and Olivia impulsively pulls Alex into a hug. When she pulls back, she is beaming and blushing.

"It'll be great, Alex," Olivia says. "You'll see." She flashes one more smile at Alex and continues on to the 16th Precinct.

Watching Olivia walk away, Alex sighs. "I hope you're right," she whispers.

…

…

The day is dreadfully long, and Alex is stuck spending it in her office, drowning in motions.

When the knock on her door comes as 7:30, relief mixes with trepidation and travels down her spine. She adjusts her glasses, runs her hands over her clothes, and opens the door. "Hello, Olivia," she says, almost sounding defeated.

Olivia looks at Alex concernedly. "Long day?"

Alex just nods and attempts to force a smile. "Ready to go?"

Olivia nods. "Thanks, Alex, for coming out tonight."

Alex merely nods, unable to shake the apprehensive feeling in her bones.

The cab ride to the bar takes fifteen minutes; Olivia watches Alex out of the corner of her eye the entire time. Alex sits as close to the door as possible, attempting to rebuild the walls Olivia has started to tear down.

When the cab stops, Alex pays the driver and bolts out of the car, all before Olivia even has the chance to unbuckle.

"Alex," Olivia says, placing her hand on Alex's shoulder, "what's wrong?"

Alex shakes her head and takes a deep breath, letting it out slowly. "Nothing," she says quickly, turning around to smile at Olivia. "It's just been a while since…" She stops, shaking her head. "It's just been a while since I've been out."

"You're sure?"

Alex nods. "I am."

They stand outside the bar, staring at each other for a long moment. The sound of someone clearing their throat breaks the silence.

Olivia breaks eye contact first, turning her head to look at Elliot. "Did you just get here?"

Elliot shakes his head. "John saw you two get here and came up with some conspiracy theory about why it was taking so long for you to come in. I figured I'd come out and see if you were okay."

"Yeah," Olivia says, "we're fine. We'll be in in a minute."

Elliot nods and goes back into the bar, rejoining John and Fin at the table.

"Ready?" Olivia asks, looking back at Alex.

Alex nods. _As read as I'll ever be_, she thinks.

For the first half of the night, Alex drinks only water and Sprite. But as the night progresses and the conversation turns personal, she finds herself turning to something strong to keep her from running.

Thankfully, the questions aren't too deep or overly personal and Alex is able to answer without providing too much detail.

She doesn't slip up until she is getting ready to leave.

"Okay," Alex says, finishing the remainder of her fourth – or was it her fifth? – drink. "I should be getting home." She stands up unsteadily, using the booth chair to steady herself. "The babysitter is probably exhausted by now."

Olivia looks over at Elliot, her eyebrows knitted in confusion. _Babysitter? _she mouths. Elliot shrugs.

"Share a cab, Alex?" Olivia asks, standing up and pulling on her jacket. She nods her goodnights to the guys, and places her hand on Alex's lower back, leading her out of the bar.

Alex doesn't speak to Olivia until after she has given the cabbie her address. "I had a great time tonight."

Olivia smiles. "I'm glad you decided to come with us."

The rest of the ride is silent. Alex absentmindedly plays with the hem of her skirt while Olivia tries to keep herself from taking hold of Alex's hand.

When the cab stops in front of Alex's building, Alex looks at Olivia, gently biting her bottom lip. "Would you like to come up?"

Olivia hesitates for a few seconds. "What about the babysitter?"

"I almost forgot," Alex exclaims, nearly throwing herself out of the cab. She tosses some money at the driver and runs for the door.

Olivia makes a spur of the moment decision and decides to follow Alex upstairs, wondering in the back of her mind if reality is a place Alex is living. "Hold the elevator," she says, finally catching up to Alex.

Alex smiles and hits the button for the sixth floor. "I didn't think you'd follow me."

Olivia shrugs. "Curiosity got the best of me."

"I hope you won't be disappointed."

They exit the elevator and walk the few steps to apartment 6B. Alex opens the door and enters the apartment, Olivia right behind her.

The inside is shocking to Olivia; it does not remind her of Alex at all.

The only accessories are modest and necessary – fridge, stove, couch, small television, coffee table. Some of the items look second-hand. It is not the picture of elegance and upper-class that Olivia has come to associate with Alex.

Necessary appliances aside, the apartment is bare – no pictures, no toys scattered about, not sign of another person (adult or child) living in this apartment.

Olivia looks around, becoming more confused by the second. "The babysitter?"

And just like that, Alex's carefully-constructed world falls apart around her. The pain and heartbreak hit her so quickly and so forcefully that she has to lean back against the door to keep herself upright.

Olivia looks at her, concern and worry written all over her face. "Alex? Alex, are you alright?"

Alex manages to hold back the tears until she shakes her head, and a vicious sob is ripped from her chest. She slides to the ground and pulls her knees to her chest.

Olivia kneels down next to her and rubs soothing circles on Alex's back. "Tell me," she whispers. "Tell me so I can help."

.


End file.
